Chapter Seven

Talon

It's been a couple of weeks since my wife was murdered. I feel like a bit of a monster for being more shocked than grief stricken. If I'm being honest with myself, I'll admit that I've felt more disconnected from her than I realized.

It's strange that the local police department released her body to the funeral home but haven't released my home from being an official crime scene yet, so I'm still in Rigs' old suite. Smoke negotiated with the detective, and I'm allowed to go inside and pack a bag with police supervision. They stare at me like I'm a criminal as I gather enough clothing and personal effects to suffice for a couple of weeks. Hopefully that's long enough to clear my name, no charges have been brought against me—but I'm still a person of interest. When we go our separate ways on the sidewalk, one officer reminds me, "You are not allowed back on the property until the detectives clear it. Understand?"

"Yes, of course. Thanks for letting me get my clothing," I say over my shoulder as I walk away.

I'm surprised to see Silvia's car parked in front of my truck. She's leaning against her driver's side door and is quick to approach me as I throw my duffle bag into the back of my truck.

"You didn't come to the memorial service," she says accusingly.

"I said my goodbyes the first day of visitation at the funeral home. It was a closed casket anyways. I thought that I'd leave you and your parents in peace to say your own goodbyes."

"Thanks for paying for the funeral. That took a load off us."

I turn to look at her. She's dressed up and has her hair done up really nice. "Even though our relationship was in the shitter, Sandra was my wife. Whatever your parents ordered I was happy to pay for. You know Sandra never did without when she was with me."

She takes a step closer. "I know, but now she's gone and it's just you and me."

I rake my hand roughly through my hair. "There's no you and me and there never will be."

"I know you need time. It would be unseemly if we were seen together too soon. But that doesn't mean we can't meet up in private."

"No. Just no, Silvia. I'm not interested in hooking up with my dead wife's sister. That's all kinds of wrong and you know it."

"Is it," she shoots back with an edge of annoyance to her voice. "I know Sandra was a shitty wife. She spent all your money, ran around, partied every chance she got and cheated on you." Thumping her hand against her chest, she states indignantly, "I'm not my sister. I know how to treat a good man. I'd never do to you the things she did. You know I'm loyal and trustworthy."

"I know all that," I say with exasperation. "Silvia, you know that I've always respected you. Jim was a good man, and you always did right by him. It's just that I'm not Jim. I'm not attracted to you that way."

I can tell by the look on her face that I've wounded her pride. "It's because I'm not beautiful, like Sandra was. That's it, isn't it? You and Sandra looked good together and being with me would be trading down. Is that it?"

She's really upset and taking my refusal personally. I can tell because now she's glaring at me, and her voice is filled with disgust.

"It's not that. If you really want to know, being with you would be a constant reminder of how gullible I was to trust your sister. I want to put this behind me and move on. I don't want to drag all this guilt and shame around with me forever."

Her eyes narrow on me. "What in the hell do you have to be sorry about? I thought you had nothing to do with her murder."

"I didn't have anything to with it. I'm pretty sure you know that, or you wouldn't be coming on to me right now."

My words made her even angrier. "I'm not coming on to you like some cheap tramp. I'm offering you a life, a better one than you had before and you throwing back in my face."

"I'm not trying to," I say, exasperated that she's putting me on the spot so soon after her sister's death. "You've made a kind offer, but my answer is no, and that's final."

Just then my phone rings. I don't know or care who it is, but I'm intent upon using it as way to exit this conversation. "Sorry, I've been waiting for a call from my attorney. I really need to take this. Please send your parents my condolences." I pull out my cell phone and walk off with the phone to my ear.

Silvia stomps off, gets into her car and squeals her tires as she pulls out. I realize in this moment that both Sandra and Silvia are cut from the same cloth. They're both batshit crazy, just in different ways.

***

Come to find out, the call is from Zen. He's already got me on security cameras arriving at the park around three in the afternoon and leaving the following morning. Sandra was murdered between seven and midnight, it's not conclusive proof because I could have left through an alternative exit with no security camera, killed her and then returned. I answer the call quickly, hoping and praying that he's got a lead on the lady I helped at the park. That's going to be the real proof that I stayed at the park that night.

"Yeah, what do you have for me, brother?"

"I have good news," he responds happily. "As well as getting visuals on your truck, I also found the car that picked up your woman. I was able to enhance the image and got a partial license plate."

"She's not mine," I say. "But go ahead."

"I spoke with our contact at the precinct and he kept running the plate with different last digits until he found a hit on a car that matched the car in the photograph."

"That's great work, Zen. Tell me you got an address on her."

"When have I failed you?" our IT guru says, sounding pleased with himself. "The car belongs to her father, but I managed to get a hold of her full name, home address, and work address. Her name is Kelly Collins, and she works at Bluebird Women's Shelter. I believe she's one of the social workers there."

"Thanks, Zen. I'm going to try to get her to talk to me. Wish me luck."

"You don't need luck, brother. You've got charm."

I get off the phone feeling elated at this latest development. Over the last couple of weeks since my wife was killed, I've had to suffer the indignity after being accused of murdering her. I even ended up on the front page of the local newspaper. I will never forget how the Las Salinas PD got a warrant for my arrest, came to the clubhouse and handcuffed me in front of all of my club brothers. It was the most humiliating moment of my life, even more humiliating than finding out that Sandra had cheated on me for the entire length of our marriage.

They let me go after Smoke repeatedly pointed out their lack of evidence. His legal skills are the only reason I'm able to be out on the streets continuing to work and trying to clear my good name. With any luck, Kelly Collins will be willing to save my ass by serving as an alibi to prove I wasn't anywhere near my house that night.

I put the address Zen just sent me into my navigation app and get onto my bike, eager to pay her a visit. Since it's in the middle of the day, I decided to take my chances at Bluebird Women's Shelter.

If I'd thought that getting into a women's shelter was going to be an easy endeavor, I would have been very much mistaken. Their security guard tries to fob me off and their receptionist is more like a fucking guard dog than a pencil pusher. I have to practically promise her my firstborn just to get through the fucking door. She makes me show ID and takes a damn picture of my driver's license. There is a security station between the front door and the rest of the reception room with a walk-through metal detector set up beside it. The jumbo-sized security guard forces me to empty my pockets and walk through the scanner to make sure I'm not carrying anything metal like a gun or knife. I'm tempted to tell him that these old-style scanners are useless against ceramic and carbon fiber weapons, but as that would make me even more suspicious, I stay quiet.

When I finally approach the reception desk, the older woman manning it glares at me. If my freedom weren't on the line, I would probably just give up.

"I'm here to see Ms. Kelly Collins."

She looks me over with a critical eye. Apparently, my jeans, t-shirt and cut don't impress her. Her only response is, "Do you have an appointment?"

"No ma'am. I sure don't. But what I want to talk with her about is of extreme importance."

"You really need an appointment, sir."

"Well, there must be some mechanism for those of us who need to be seen, but don't have appointments. It's urgent."

The older woman presses her lips together. Actually, she looks kind of cute in that old lady way. I smother back a smile.

"Is this an actual emergency?" She asks again.

I nod, this is fucking serious business. "It's a matter of critical importance that I see Ms. Collins right away."

Looking none too convinced, she slowly reaches for her phone. Instead of picking it up, she hits the intercom button. "Ms. Collins, you have gentleman who would like to speak with you?"

"Is he from Child Protective Services?"

"I don't believe so." The receptionist states in a tone of voice that tells me she's getting aggravated with the situation.

"Just go ahead and show him to the conference room and I'll be there shortly."

"Yes, Ms. Collins."

Within moments I'm standing in a padded room wondering if this is some kind of joke. Until this moment, I thought only psychiatric units had padded rooms. I gave the chair nearest me a nudge, it is actually bolted to the fucking floor. As is the table and the other chairs. What kind of place is this, that they need all this security? Up until I'd stepped through the door, I had naively thought women's refuges were hippy, feel good places where everyone sits around holding hands. Not places that needed airport-style security and fucking padded cells.

A few seconds later a woman comes barging through the door accompanied by the older woman from the reception. Hope sparks in my chest because it's definitely her, the woman I helped in the park. And she looks absolutely amazing today. Her honey-blond hair is tied back and she's wearing a fitted blouse and a tight knee-length skirt like women in the fifties used to wear, that shows of her figure in an understated and classy way.

"Thank you for seeing me, Ms. Collins."

The older woman's eyebrows shoot up. "I'll send in Edward."

Kelly Collins responds, "There is no need for that. I'm acquainted with this gentleman." Lowering her voice, she says, "Ask him to wait right outside the room." Gesturing to a chair, she murmurs, "Please have a seat."

I drop down in the chair and she sits across from me. Of course, by now she would have seen the write up in the paper saying that I have been arrested for killing my wife. I'm seriously starting to think that no woman will ever want to be alone with me again as long as I live unless I can clear my name.

When we are settled down with the door open, I hold out my hand and introduce myself. My name is Daniel Ellis. I'm a member of the Savage Legion MC."

The woman reaches out to shake my hand. "My name is Kelly Collins, though you clearly know that already. I'm one of the two social workers at Bluebird Women's Shelter. It's nice to meet you again, Mr. Ellis."

"You as well," I murmur politely. "Though, Mr. Ellis is my father, call me Talon."

She raises her eyebrows at my club name, but instead of commenting, she asks, "Do you mind if I ask the reason for this visit?"

"It goes without saying that regardless of what you might have read in the local papers, I did not kill my wife."

Her eyebrows shoot up again.

"As you might have already realized, you are the one and only person who can prove I was nowhere near my home on the night that my wife was killed. I'm asking that you come forward and make a statement to the police, to be honest I'm surprised you haven't already."

She flushes pink and stammers, "I'm not sure I want to get involved."

I feel annoyed and confused by her reaction. "Do you mind if I ask why the hell not?"

"Because there's a killer on the loose. And I don't want to draw his attention to me."

I'm not sure of her logic here, why would providing me an alibi cause her problems? Kelly Cooper might be the prettiest woman I've seen in years, but her lack of action could potentially cost me my freedom. "Seriously? So you feel comfortable just letting an innocent man spend the rest of his life in jail for a crime he didn't commit?"

"No, of course I'm not okay with that. It's just that, I can't afford to get involved in someone else's problems."

I gesture around the room, "Lady you're a fucking social worker. All you do with your life is get involved in everyone else's problems. What's one more?"

She flinches at my raised voice, and I see the security guard hovering closer. "Sorry, I shouldn't have shouted, but can't you see my life could literally be on the line here?"

While California currently has a moratorium on its death penalty, that decision could be reversed at any time. I couldn't go down for murder, the thought of ending up on death row for a crime I didn't commit is terrifying.

She looks conflicted, which I hope means that she's going to change her mind. But her words leave me feeling helpless. "I could be putting myself and my family at risk if I came forward. It's not that I don't want to help you, but… what if someone deliberately tried to frame you? That could put me in the crosshairs."

"All I know is good people don't turn their back on another person suffering if they can help. People who go into social work do it for a reason. They wanna fight injustice and make a difference in the world. Two of my club brothers are married to social workers, one of them literally put her life on the line to save a kid. Letting me rot in jail for a crime I didn't commit, is no way to fight injustice."

"I'm fairly certain they can't convict you of murder without actual evidence."

"They're sure as hell trying, Ms. Collins, and without your statement I have no one to back up my alibi. I honestly need your help."

Looking all kinds of conflicted, she responds, "Can I take some time to think it over, as you can see from the security we've got a situation here."

As I look into her scared blue eyes, I find myself agreeing before I've really thought it over. "Fine, I'll catch up with you in a few days."

We say our goodbyes and I leave the building feeling all the hope that I walked in with has turned to anger and resentment. I can't help but wonder if all women are selfish, self-centered human beings who think only of themselves. Today it sure seems that way.

***

I get on my bike and go for a long ride before ending up back at the clubhouse. My anger and frustration is threatening to spill out. What I need is a good stiff drink and to chill the fuck out.

When I get to the clubhouse I'm greeted by Lori, she's one of the club vixens who can never take no for an answer. She'd been banned by Siege after causing problems for his sister, but our club president is soft hearted and let her back.

"Not interested," I say before she can even get a word in edgeways.

"Thought now that skank was gone you'd be eager to play?" she says licking her lips.

I spin on my heels, angered by her words. "Sandra's barely been in the ground for two weeks. Seriously Lori, fine fucking line you're walking."

Deciding against the drink and more hassle, I head to our games room. Maybe shooting a game of pool with the prospects might calm me down. I want to be in a zero women environment right now.